poetry

Saddle-billed Stork

Owen took these photos

Saddle-billed Stork

out of the world
of tribal masks
and dances from the spirit realm
comes an ancestor
tall on thin black legs
with a bright white body
like a spotlight
then a long brilliant bill
orange-red like a night fire
off in the bush
then a shaman’s face
black, bony, banded
with ceremonial pigments
the same fire engine red
but also taxi cab yellow

he stands two hands higher
than the tallest reeds
herky-jerks his way
through the shallows
shaking his magnificent head
like a melodramatic puppet
bends low
comes up awkward
with more fish than he can swallow
manages anyway
ends up with a bream-shaped bulge
in his long smooth neck

when we drive past him the second time
I’m just as awed –
again he appears as
a fierce young warrior
long-limbed
and all adolescent elbows

poetry

Owen at Twelve

Owen at Twelve

Owen gets burned and says almost nothing
sprawls across my lap
trying to capture light and feathers
just right
tells stand-up-comedian-quality jokes
(he asserts)
while cracking himself up until he squeaks
works hard every day
to get a huggie! response from his brother
sleeps sound while a hyena
yowls its way through camp
eats whatever meat is set before him
knows birds he’s never seen before
nearly as well as he knows
how to turn the tumblers
on each one of our hearts
while arching his eyebrows
giving a mischievous sidelong look